The day trips like a clumsy child;
I hate it that you are so far away.
I am not calm, nor happy for no reason.
Others do not see me as myself –
none of us are happy to see coming
the me that lacks you.
We have to struggle with the darkness;
Your absence is a kind of darkness.
We hope to know what we can’t
and our fears fill spaces already unhappy.
I hate it that I am insecure and
jealous pain sees where pleasure walked.
Longing and memory have become
the important parts of fruitless days.